It was within the consuming darkness that I whispered my thoughts, quietly, breathlessly, trying to cloak my dashing heartbeat and my sweat threaded palms. Beyond the blackness, the stage was alight in glorious gold, its sparkling aura ignited by the musical, dramatic intonations of theatrical plays. I bit my lips, feeling the wetness seep into chapped skin, feeling the brittle hardness of my twisting fingers, feeling the disarray of the tangles in my tresses.
'Isn't it funny?' I wondered softly, as the lights from the world beyond continued to dance across my worried façade, speckles of crimson and topaz mingling with angled eyes and frowning lines, 'even as I stand here, dragons roaring in the depths of my stomach, I'm feeling quite giddy. In a few seconds I will come out like a butterfly from a cocoon, fluttering over the ravines and wilderness of society and I wouldn't be me, I would be someone else.
'But what if I really were that someone else, the diamond dancer that's about to enrapture a whole theatre? And this cocooned version, standing here engulfed in shadows, is simply another layer to who I am? What if I am all layers and the manifold versions of myself are just that - versions? Does that mean I am only truly myself when I am alone, in solitary confinement? That the me I am in all exteriors is merely an act, and does that make all of us actors in our own lives?'
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